


Across The Room

by Game_of_Thorns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Game_of_Thorns/pseuds/Game_of_Thorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She saw her across the room and felt something that scared her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter or any of its merchandise or characters. I am not making any profit from this.

Hermione stared at the gold invite which had just landed on her desk. An invitation to the Minister’s Ball, one of the most prestigious events of the year, and an event which was known for being a large gathering of wealthy pureblood families. The curled black lettering seemed to mock her, as if it held a coded teasing message which mocked her blood status, the gold paper twinkling at her and reminding her of her lower status, even though these days she had more than enough money to get by. It reminded her of the teasing at Hogwarts, and then later, the prejudice she faced during the horrible events of the Second Wizarding War. Thinking about this caused her to touch the scars on her forearm, a reminder of how much damage was caused, how many lives lost, and how much pain they had endured to get to now, where some things were completely different, but she saw so much that remained the same. 

Tearing her thoughts away from the haunting memories of the war, she yanked her hand away from the scars and forced herself to focus on the invitation, but she found that the damage had been done and her working headspace was shattered. Feeling a little enraged and hateful at the invitation which had freed her assaulting memories, she pushed back her chair and snatched the invitation off her desk, stalking out of her office. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a dead man if he expected her to actually attend the Minister’s Ball this year. She hated events like this, full of haughty purebloods who would look down their noses at her. Other years, she had managed to escape from attending through overseas work, illness, and earlier in her career, her relatively unimportant job and her willingness to take on extra work, often from those who were actually attending the Ball. She was the now one of the higher ranking personnel within the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and this year, she was expected to attend and she hoped that Kingsley wasn’t going to refuse her when she begged to be excused from the event.

Her heels clicked as she stalked towards the elevators, stepping into one which arrived mere seconds after she arrived outside them. She clenched the invitation in her fist and waited for her arrival on the floor containing the Minister of Magic’s office, glancing occasionally up at the paper planes which whizzed through the air above her. As the elevator slowed and the doors opened, she glared at a man who tried to push through the crowded elevator and get out before her. He shrank back and she strode down the hall towards the Minister’s office, accompanied by a whirl of paper planes, no doubt carrying important paperwork or the latest complaints of the wizarding community.

As she approached the heavy oak door, it opened, and several people hurried out of the Minister’s office, a few of them looking sufficiently chastised for whatever blunder they had unfortunately made. The opening of the door allowed a stream of paper planes to fly in and out, some only just making it before the heavy door swung shut again. As the people who had just exited Kingsley’s office came closer, they stepped aside for her, and she shoved the heavy oak door open, striding into Kingsley’s office. Hermione shot a glare at the secretary who got up to stop her as she stormed towards the inner office. The secretary sat back down and Hermione huffed, throwing herself into a chair in front of Kingsley’s desk and tossing the crumpled invitation onto the paperwork he was currently filling out. 

Looking up, the Minister of Magic smiled at her, noting her look of displeasure,  
“And what can I help you with today, Hermione?” he asked, taking note of the way she huffed and folded her arms, the glare she gave him, and the crumpled piece of expensive golden paper that lay on top of the paperwork he had been hoping to complete before lunchtime. He put his quill down and stacked his paperwork, knowing that now it would have to wait until after lunch and the meetings he had scheduled immediately after that. He saw the young witch gesture to the crumpled invitation, her look of displeasure deepening into a frown as she eyed it,  
“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” she growled, pursing her lips, one of her hands clenching into a tight fist, “You are a dead man if you’re going to force me to go to that poorly covered excuse for show-off purebloods.”

Hermione watched as the dark skinned man raised an eyebrow at her and did his best not to grin. She forced herself to uncurl the fist she had formed, and her hand itched to just grab her wand and hex him, so she grasped a handful of her robes instead. She returned his raised eyebrow with one of her own, silently challenging him to refuse her demand, even though there was a small part of her which knew he would. She waited for him to speak and tried to calm the urge to scream at him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hermione…” Kinsley began, and noticed that Hermione’s expression turned into a dark scowl and her hand tightened its grip around a fistful of her robes, the knuckles going white from the pressure, “I’m sorry Hermione. You’re a high ranking personnel. Your reputation in the ministry would be tarnished, possibly outside too, it the press should get a hold of the news, which they will, because Harry and Ron are both attending. This could possibly cost you a promotion, Hermione, as well as your freedom from the press.” He saw the young witch’s expression morph into desperation, and her eyes were wide and panicked,  
“Please Kingsley!” she begged, “I’ll take on extra work, work overtime, anything!” He sighed and shook his head, causing Hermione to visibly wilt like a dying plant.  
“I’m sorry Hermione,” he said, gentling his voice, hoping it would ease both her feelings and the extra disappointment that he was about to serve her, “But your current job requires public appearances, and this includes social events, not just business. Unfortunately, this year, there is no way of getting out of this.” Hermione slumped in disappointment, and he felt bad for upsetting her,  
“Hermione, at least you don't have to give a speech,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood, but the young witch didn’t react, only slowly got to her feet and took back the crumpled invitation, giving him a stiff nod before she left his office and disappeared through the heavy oak door without another word.

=====RTD=====

Hermione walked slowly back to her office, hardly noticing the whirls of paper planes overhead or the crowded elevator she stepped into, nor did she notice the greetings from her co-workers as she passed them in the halls of the Ministry. Her gaze was unfocused and drifting, from the marble of the floors, to the walls, and then down to the scrunched invitation. Several people stepped out of her way to avoid a collision, but she kept walking towards her office, not hearing the murmuring conversations around her, or the volley of questions that one of the office workers flung at her. Instead, she walked, dazed, into her office, shutting the door and sitting in her chair, gazing off distractedly, her mind in a panicked flurry over the Minister’s Ball.

As she sat staring off blankly into the distance, the door of her office was flung open and Hermione was disturbed from her internal panic by a the excited squealing of a red-haired woman. Hermione jumped in shock at seeing the youngest Weasley - although it was Potter as of only a few months ago - in her office. Ginny Potter threw herself down into the chair in front of the desk, laughing as she saw her brunette friend staring at her in shock, and proceeded to put her boot-clad feet up on the surface of the dark wood desk, accidentally knocking over the papers stacked in Hermione’s in-tray. The sound of crashing papers shocked the brunette witch out of her open-mouthed staring, and she jumped to her feet, hurrying to gather the papers again, shooting Ginny a frustrated look.  
The red-haired witch giggled, “Oops!” she said, laughing when Hermione huffed. “What’s up with you anyway?” she asked, before her eye landed on the invitation to the Minister’s Ball,  
“Oh, nothing, just work,” Hermione said. Ginny raised an eyebrow at her, sensing her friend’s lying,  
“Hermione, stop lying,” she said, and smiled at her friend to let the brunette witch know that she wasn’t actually mad at her, “Does it have anything to do with that?” She pointed at the crumpled golden paper that Hermione had vacantly tossed on her desk when she sat down. Hermione answered with a nod,  
“He’s making me go, Ginny,” she said, her emotions given away when Ginny saw the other woman touching the inside of her scarred arm. Ginny realised that she had to cheer her friend up immediately, because her friend hadn’t even asked how she’d even gotten into the Ministry, nor had she greeted her, or asked about her day, or how Harry was, or one of the other normal Hermione behaviours.

Hermione registered Ginny taking her feet off the desk, but did not respond, her gaze having landed on the invitation once again. She didn’t notice her friend getting to her feet and coming around the desk until Ginny laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped in surprise, shocked out of her daze once again. Her friend laughed,  
“Come on Hermione,” she said, tugging on the brunette’s arm, “We’re going out to lunch. Right now.” The brunette witch spluttered,  
“But- Ginny, I have-“ she protested as her friend dragged her from her chair and out of her office,  
“Paper work to do?” Ginny said, finishing her friend’s sentence with a teasing smile, “You’re boring. We’re going out to lunch, we’re going to have fun, and you’re going to tell me why the Minister’s Ball has you all riled up!” The red-head left no room for argument, using her strength from playing professional Quidditch to march her friend into the elevators and then out of the Ministry.

=====RTD=====

“So you don’t want to go to the Minister’s Ball because it’s full of pureblood pricks?” Ginny said, taking a sip of the juice she had ordered, “Come on Hermione! It’s not going to be just those assholes! Harry and I are going too, and so are Ron and Lavender!” Ginny groaned when Hermione just shook her head in response, “You can’t just not come this year!” Ginny protested, “We missed you last year, and it was heaps of fun! Besides, there’s plenty of alcohol there, and also really good food!” Hermione gave a long sigh and rubbed at her wrist, taking a fortifying gulp of her firewhiskey, enjoying the burning sensation as it slid down her throat,  
“Okay Ginny, I’ll go on one condition,” she said reluctantly, then continued, “I want to be sufficiently buzzed for the whole evening.” Ginny broke into a loud laugh, causing people at nearby tables to give them disapproving looks,  
“Well, I’m not about to stop you,” the red-head replied, her laughter quietening down to a small giggle, which Hermione responded to by groaning and rolling her eyes. The other woman continued to giggle as they paid for the meal and stepped out of the restaurant and onto the cobbled streets of wizarding London.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione glared down at the silvery blue dress in her arms and muttered several foul words towards Ginny, who had handed her the dress and shoved her back into her bedroom. She couldn’t deny it, the dress was pretty, and she particularly liked the enchanted metalwork that would hang between her shoulder blades, decorating the expanse of skin revealed by the backless dress. She traced her finger over the moving metal, stroking the gleaming wing of one of the dragons depicted in this artwork she was going to wear. With a soft sigh, she lay the dress over the back of the chair in front of her vanity, and crossed the room to her en suite bathroom, a luxury which she was glad to be able to enjoy.

The steam from the shower swirled and hung in the bathroom, clouding both the mirror and Hermione’s mind. The woman sighed, relaxing into the shower which was just a little hotter than she could stand, just how she liked it. The smell of her lavender scented shampoo mixed with the clouds of steam and Hermione breathed it in deeply as she washed off the remaining soap suds. She sighed, standing under the hot water for a while longer until a fist pounding on the bathroom door disturbed her from her clouded mind,  
“Hurry up in there!” Ginny called, banging on the wood, “You’ll make us late!” Hermione sighed and shut off the water with a wave of her hand as she stepped from the shower. She stood, dripping, on the bathmat for only a few seconds as she summoned a towel, both wandless and wordless. Wrapping herself in the soft towel, she opened the bathroom door to find Ginny waiting, her hand on her hip as her foot tapped impatiently on the wooden floor.  
“You took your sweet time,” Ginny said, at which, Hermione rolled her eyes, snatching up her wand to place a sticking charm on the towel to keep it in place before she magically hung her dress on the back of the door. Just as she was plopping herself down on the chair in front of her vanity, her bedroom door burst open, and a familiar French witch strode into the room,  
“Bonjour, ‘ermione,” Fleur chirped, coming over to the vanity to lay her hands on Hermione’s shoulders, “I understand my assistance is required, no?” The brunette witch grumbled and tuned out as Ginny and Fleur chattered away whilst the blonde (literally) worked her magic on Hermione’s hair. Hermione wished she didn’t have to attend the Ball and prayed for a diplomatic dispute so she could have an excuse not to go.

=====RTD=====

Thirty-five minutes and a great many spells later, Hermione was declared fit to attend and her prayers for a diplomatic dispute went unanswered. She sighed, brushing her hands over the silky silvery blue fabric as she waited, guarded by a watchful Fleur, for the rest of her friends to arrive. There was no way she was escaping this party now, and her fate was sealed when the pop of people apparating sounded from just outside the front door, and the sounds of excited chattering and laughter could be heard when Ginny went to open the door. The noisy group of her friends seemed to fill Hermione’s quiet home, the laughter spreading to the brunette witch as she embraced her friends, grateful for their company on what she had deemed to be a particularly horrible evening. She would have fun, she told herself, she would have fun and not ruin the night, no matter how much she didn’t want to go. After all, it would be beneficial for her job. She sighed and stepped towards the fireplace as Ginny flooed away. She could only hope that the night wouldn't get worse.

=====RTD=====

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, the green flames dying down behind her. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she strode over to where Ginny was standing with Harry. Her friends gave her a once over, and nodded in approval, Ginny smiling, proud of her work. They said nothing as Ron came out of the fireplace, quickly followed by Lavender, with Fleur, Neville, and Luna close behind.

Once they had all gathered at the entrance of the ballroom, a smartly dressed man approached them. He said nothing as he took the golden invitations from each of them before waving his wand to open the huge mahogany doors, which were carved with magical creatures and inlaid with gold. As the doors slowly opened, the sound of music from a small orchestra rose and filled their ears, mixing with the murmur of voices. The silent man gestured for them to enter the room and Hermione noticed that the floors in here were marble too. The walls were decorated with hanging red velvet, interspersed with panels of mirrors, stretching from the marble floor to the high painted ceiling. Stepping further into the room, which had begun to fill with people, Hermione took in the floating lights above them, bright candles in delicate pink and clear glass flowers, floating in the charmed indoor night sky, which was lit with twinkling stars.

As her eyes moved from the twinkling stars and bright candles, a figure across the room caught her eye. The familiar blonde hair, twisted into an elegant arrangement, loose curls trailing on a pale, elegant neck. Hermione eyed the woman, former Malfoy, mother of a Slytherin bully, and forced hostess to Voldemort and his twisted minions. The woman was certainly beautiful, Hermione mused, catching herself eyeing the trim waist which was highlighted by the long, dark purple dress that clung snuggly to her upper body. The blonde witch turned, and Hermione gasped as their eyes met, icy blue piercing into her as Narcissa Black looked her up and down. A strange feeling sprung up in her heart as she locked eyes with the blonde witch. The feeling assaulted her, leaping into her mouth to rob her of her breath as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, and yet, she knew what it was. She had seen Narcissa across the room and her heart had decided for her. Whatever she was feeling, it scared her.


	4. Chapter 4

Narcissa stood by the far wall, surrounded by pureblood ‘friends’ and desperate Ministry workers. Her son, Draco, stood by her side, occasionally whispering a tidbit about an acquaintance, or a snide remark about the eager-to-please Ministry workers that huddled around them, verbally kissing their feet. As always, her tiny enigmatic smile and occasional quirk of a well-shaped eyebrow were the only signs that she felt any amusement at the workers’ antics, and even then, only those close to her knew that she was amused, to others, she appeared cold and indifferent, just as her parents had raised her to be.

A ball such as this would have been much more elegant, had it been hosted by her mother. Yes, Druella Black had a much better taste in décor, but this was the best she could expect from those Ministry fools. At least the dark red velvet drapes hung around the walls went nicely with the floor-to-ceiling mirror panels, and she would have to enquire about the witch or wizard responsible for the charmed ceiling that twinkled with stars. It was magnificent work, she had to admit.

She smiled politely at a pureblood witch who approached her, no doubt eager to gossip about trivial matters, as was common among the witches she had been taught to socialise with. As the witch twittered away about the latest scandal (One of Draco’s pureblood classmates was seen with a muggle-born on a date, not that Narcissa cared), the older blonde witch tuned her out, wishing desperately for an intelligent conversation. She discretely took a glance at her son, catching his gaze and raising an eyebrow, to which he gave a roll of his eyes and a faint quirk of his mouth. The blabbering witch didn't notice, continuing to prattle on about something (Where Pansy Parkinson was seen on the weekend), and Narcissa restrained the urge to let out a loud sigh, instead choosing to smooth down the silk skirts of her purple gown.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose, her senses as sharp as ever, telling her that someone was watching her. Her senses had been honed by her years of attending balls like this, and from the years of hosting Voldemort in her home. Narcissa gave small shiver, going unnoticed by the witch in front of her, but garnering a concerned look from Draco, which she waved off, politely smiling at the gossipy witch and then making her excuses, seeing Astoria Greengrass making her way over (She was soon to be Malfoy, seeing as she was happily marrying Draco sometime next Spring). Greeting the younger witch with a kiss on each cheek, much more than her usual air kiss and limp embrace, she sighed in relief. Astoria held back a laugh, her eyes twinkling as she caught Narcissa’s relief to be freed from the babbling witch. After Astoria greeted Draco with a chaste kiss, as was acceptable at such events, Narcissa manoeuvred them into a space from which she could easily seek out whoever was watching her.

Her eyes swept over the ballroom, grateful for Astoria’s ability to read her. The younger witch had sensed Narcissa’s need to survey the room, and had struck up a conversation with Draco, leaving the older witch to seek out someone. As her eyes swept through the crowds near the entrance, full of slicked hair and elegant hairstyles, her eyes met a pair of warm brown eyes. The brown eyes widened in shock, and Narcissa realised who they belonged to. Hermione Granger, famous witch, the brains of the Golden Trio, and a witch who most definitely had no reason to feel any kind of sympathy towards a witch such as Narcissa, even though it was well known that, under the power of Lucius and Voldemort, she had been a helpless prisoner in her own home, unable to act for fear of the wrath of the Dark Lord.

Something in those eyes sparked something deep inside Narcissa, something she had never felt, not in her marriage to Lucius. Her heart stopped for a moment, and she audibly gasped, drawing a curious look from Draco. She subconsciously ran her eyes over the brunette across the room, taking in the plunging neckline of the dress she wore. Narcissa caught herself looking eagerly at the younger witches cleavage, and when the crowd moved, it revealed Hermione’s full figure. The blonde witch drank in the sight of the brunette in the shimmering silvery blue dress, her eyes lingering around the deep neckline and where the fabric clung to the curves of her waist and hips. Narcissa took a deep breath and attempted to smother an assaulting feeling that was strangling her self-control, a feeling which she refused to acknowledge as arousal.

Her hungry gazing at the brunette’s figure was interrupted by the movement of the crowd, cutting off her view. All she could she now was the younger witch’s head, their eyes locked until a person approached Hermione, drawing her attention away (Narcissa identified the person as Fleur Delacour), and then the brunette witch disappeared into the crowd, leaving Narcissa with a faint and hungry longing for more time to spend staring into those warm, deep, brown eyes, preferably, at a much closer distance.

Narcissa shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind as Astoria touched her arm. Had Narcissa been less in control of her own body, she might have jumped in surprise, but instead, she only jolted and stood up even straighter. Turning her head, she caught Astoria’s knowing glance, accompanied by a cheeky wiggle of elegant brown eyebrows and an amused twinkle in the younger witch’s eyes. Narcissa shot her a look and gently slapped the girl’s arm, which caused her soon-to-be daughter-in-law to laugh, and the blonde witch silently wondered if she was that obvious in her hungry gazing at Hermione.  
“You’re not that obvious,” Astoria whispered to her, having read the look on the blonde’s face, “I knew you had a thing for witches, but I didn’t know you liked attractive Gryffindor brunettes.” Astoria dodged another slap and laughed at Narcissa’s embarrassed and flushed face. Narcissa fought the urge to bury her face in her hands,  
“Merlin’s beard, Astoria!” she said, desperately fanning herself to reduce what she knew was a heavy blush, “I’m not attracted to her!”  
The brunette rolled her eyes and smirked at the furiously blushing witch, “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your little crush,” she teased, giggling, “Well… I might tell Draco…” At Narcissa’s horrified and pleading expression, she burst out laughing, drawing several curious glances from the crowd around them, “All right, all right…” she huffed, pouting, “I won’t tell Draco. I’ll leave you to explain to him why you’re all red.” She said this, and then turned to greet Draco with a kiss when he approached, as he had wandered off with Blaise Zabini.  
“Hello mother,” he greeted, noticing her flushed cheeks, “Are you all right?” Narcissa gave a hurried nod,  
“Yes… Yes, I’m fine…” she said, fanning herself with a decorated fan from her clutch bag, “I think… I think I need some air… It is rather hot in here.” Draco considered her answer for a moment and nodded, accepting it. Astoria took the older witch’s arm,  
“I shall escort her out onto the balcony so she can get some fresh air,” she said, kissing Draco’s cheek as a farewell, “I shall be back soon, Draco.” She locked eyes with Narcissa, giving her a faint smirk, “Come, Lady Black, let’s go outside.” She escorted the blonde witch away from her son, and toward a pair of glass doors leading to the balcony, the crowd parting before them as they swept across the room. Narcissa once again felt the piercing stare of those brown eyes following her across the room until she stepped out onto the balcony.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as the glass doors closed behind them, Astoria let go of Narcissa’s arm and summoned a glass of champagne which she handed to the blonde witch. The older witch was grateful for the alcohol and took a hearty sip, sighing as she took the glass away from her lips. Her face had cooled significantly and she leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, gazing out over the gardens. Astoria approached and stood beside her, silent for only a moment,  
“So… Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, knowing the answer that the blonde witch would give was ‘no’. Narcissa gave her an eye roll,  
“No,” she replied curtly, taking a deep, calming breath of cool night air. The brunette witch laughed freely, no longer confined by the judging eyes inside the ballroom,  
“Of course you don’t,” she remarked, smirking at the other woman, “But too bad, we’re talking about this anyway.” She laughed when Narcissa didn’t restrain her unhappy groan. “So what’s going on with you and the Granger girl?” she asked, laughing when Narcissa’s face flushed again,  
“Nothing’s happening, Astoria,” the blonde witch huffed, swatting at her younger friend, “And nothing will. In fact, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Astoria quirked one shapely eyebrow,  
“Are you sure nothing’s happening?” she asked teasingly, “Because you looked like you wanted to tackle her in the middle of the ballroom and have your wicked way with her…” Narcissa groaned again and wordlessly flung a ball of water at the younger witch, who easily dodged, letting the water splash harmlessly against the wall. “Narcissa, just put your big girl pants on and go and kiss her or something!” Astoria exclaimed, and this time, the ball of water almost hit her.  
“I think I’ll be wanting something much stronger than this poor excuse for alcohol,” Narcissa remarked, downing the rest of her champagne before summoning a very well aged bottle of Firewhiskey and taking a hearty drink, sighing as it burnt its way down her throat. She was about to take another drink when she noticed it was no longer in her hand.  
“You’re not getting drunk tonight,” Astoria told her, ignoring the glare the older witch gave her, “It won’t be good for your reputation, nor your little romance with the Granger girl.” She dodged a half-hearted attempt to snatch the bottle and applied wards before sending it back to where it had come from. Narcissa wouldn’t be able to summon this bottle again, and Astoria knew that the others were locked and warded in the former Malfoy Manor. She smirked as Narcissa huffed and pouted, sulking like a child, then took the older witch’s arm and led her back to the ballroom.

=====RTD=====

“It’s nothing, Fleur!” Hermione hissed, tugging the blonde witch out the door to a balcony, on the opposite side of the hall to the one Narcissa had just walked through with Astoria.  
“Is it?” the French witch replied, lifting one shaped eyebrow, “Somehow, I don’t think I can believe that.” The brunette turned away in order to attempt to hide her growing blush, but Fleur had seen it already and laughed,  
“You like her!” the blonde witch exclaimed, dodging a stinging hex that Hermione flung in her vague direction. The blonde witch was extremely perceptive, and Hermione grumbled at her friend’s skill,  
“Okay, maybe I do,” Hermione said with a shrug, “But I sure don’t want to talk about it.”  
“Come on ‘ermione!” Fleur complained, “You’re no fun!’  
“Absolutely not!” Hermione hissed, pulling her blonde friend back towards the ballroom, “We’re not talking about this here, and we’re not talking about this now - or ever, for that matter.”  
“Fine!” Fleur said, giving in, “I won’t mention it.” Hermione gave a stiff nod and paused,  
“Good,” she said, before pulling open the balcony door and disappearing back into the ballroom, taking a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray as he passed her and then disappearing into the crowd. Fleur sighed and shook her head before following her friend inside.

=====RTD=====

The night progressed in dancing and delicate trays of food carried by silent waiters, and in trays of champagne glasses and snippets of pleasant yet tedious conversations. Hermione moved through the room, first, on the arm of Fleur Delacour, the elegant expert of such social events, and then, on the arm of Kingsley Shacklebolt, as he introduced her to foreign visiting dignitaries from exotic locations in the wizarding world. Fleur had introduced her to a wide range of people, from her own younger sister to various friends of her family, all very delighted to meet Hermione and eager to talk. When Fleur had gotten into a conversation with an old family friend - a conversation taking place in rapid-fire French - Kingsley Shacklebolt had approached them, politely interrupting Fleur in a display of well-learned French to apologise and then ask to borrow Hermione for what she could only vaguely translate to ‘just a little while’. Hermione internally groaned, knowing immediately that Kingsley would take her around the room and that they would be conducting business, but she reasoned with herself that Kingsley was a busy man, and may never be able to speak with some of these people during his regular work hours. She sighed quietly and gave in, reluctantly taking the arm that the dark skinned man offered her before letting him lead her towards their first stop.

Hermione was lead towards where Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were standing. She groaned quietly, but put on a pleasant smile as they drew nearer. Kingsley took the time to shake the hands of both men, and Hermione used the few seconds that gave her to spot Astoria Greengrass nearby, standing alongside the former Mrs Malfoy. Hermione straightened her posture and forced her attention back to her companions, greeting them both with a well-practiced smile that hid how uncomfortable she felt. Both of her former classmates returned her greeting with easy smiles which relaxed Hermione’s discomfort. As Blaise and Kingsley got swept up in a conversation about diplomatic relationships with the wizarding community in Italy, Draco stepped a little closer to Hermione, the twinkling in his eyes drawing a curious look from the brunette witch. He smirked,  
“Hello Granger,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him,  
“Malfoy,” she said cooly, her voice just as quiet as his. He chuckled,  
“No need for that,” he said, “I only want to talk.” Hermione kept her eyebrow raised,  
“Well?” she questioned, “Talk. I don’t have long before Kingsley drags me off somewhere else.”  
“All right, all right,” he said, holding his hands up, “I just wanted to let you know that I noticed you admiring my mother earlier.” Hermione blushed and started to stutter out a response, but Draco stopped her, “I don’t mind. In fact, I might even be willing to help you out…” She glared at him,  
“Uhuh,” she responded, “And what’s in it for you?” Draco gave another easy smile,  
“The happiness of my mother,” he began, “And a small favour from your department.”  
“Why?” Hermione asked. As he began to respond, Kingsley put a hand on her arm, and she turned away from Draco to acknowledge the Minister.  
“Yes?” she asked. The dark skinned man held out his arm and gestured towards their next business. She took his arm and her ear caught what Draco said as they walked off,  
“Think about it, Hermione,” the blond said, and Hermione pushed his words to the back of her mind, ignoring them in favour of putting on another friendly smile as they approached a tall wizard that Hermione had seen very briefly when she went on business to deal with the French Ministry of Magic. She sighed internally and resigned herself to being dragged around the Minister’s Ball in pursuit of Ministerial business. She had to admit, this was more entertaining than the pile of paperwork she would have been doing instead.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione sighed as she trudged up the staircase of her home. In one hand, she held her heels, in the other, she clutched her dress. She had enjoyed the night more than she’d like to admit. Fleur had kept her company throughout the night, and occasionally Lavender or Luna passed by in pursuit of their respective significant others. She’d even had a remotely civil conversation with Pansy Parkinson, who’d complimented the metalwork of her dress, and they’d spoken together until Daphne Greengrass came and swept the other woman away to look for Blaise. Hermione pushed open the door of her room, stumbling towards her bed. She dropped her shoes and purse somewhere on the way there, and a lazy wave of her wand had her freed of her dress and fancy undergarments and left them hanging over the back of a chair. Another wave left her makeup free, and the pins in her hair flew away to her dresser, just as she slipped under the covers and passed out, her wand falling to the floor with an unnoticed clatter.

That night, she slept so well, her alarm almost failed to wake her up in time for work. When she did wake, she barely had time to ready herself, pulling on a suit and a pair of low heels before snatching up her wand and her outer robes. Hermione was rushing so much that she almost slipped and fell down the stairs as she rushed to the fireplace. She grasped onto the railing, and stood still for a moment to calm herself before she continued down the stairs at a more sedate pace. Grabbing a handful of the floo powder, she flicked her wand to light the fire before flooing away to the Ministry.

=====RTD=====

In her office, she put her head in her hands and sighed wearily. She was oh-so-aware that she had spent a large portion of the previous evening staring at Narcissa Black when she was supposed to be chatting pleasantly with foreign dignitaries. What if she’d been seen? If both Draco and Fleur had noticed, surely someone else would have noticed too? She and Narcissa had locked eyes. It would be so easy for someone to work out, and the tension between the two women was blindingly obvious. Not to mention if Narcissa herself had come to the same conclusion as Hermione had; that she was most definitely feeling something she shouldn't be feeling. For a moment, Hermione considered digging out the warded bottle of gin hidden inside her desk drawer. It was, however, far too early to start drinking, and Minister Shacklebolt was bound to come in any moment, hopefully not to talk about the previous night. However, the first visitor to her office was not the Minister.

The opening of her office door did not bring with it the Minister, as she had previously thought it would have. Instead, it brought with it one Harry Potter. The black haired Boy-Who-Lived, who was now no longer a boy, sat himself in the seat in front of her, putting his feet up on her desk. Hermione eyed him cautiously, and Harry stared back at her in complete silence. After a while, he cleared his throat and grinned,  
“Getting straight to the point,” he began, “What’s going on with you and the lovely and newly divorced Ms Black, Hermione?” She felt her cheeks flush bright red and looked down at some paperwork,  
“Absolutely nothing, Harry,” she said, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice, “In fact, I don’t know where this is coming from.” She tried her best to sound confused, but she doubted it was working, as Harry was more perceptive than he had been whilst they were in school. He levelled her with a look that spoke of his judgement,  
“Whatever you say, Hermione,” he said with a smirk, “Just be sure to tell me when the wedding is so I can get my suit dry-cleaned.” She glared at him,  
“Fine!” She snapped, “I might be attracted to her, but nothing’s ever going to happen between us! She’s straight!” He smiled in triumph,  
“There! That wasn't so hard, was it?” he said, removing his feet from the desk and standing up, “Have a lovely day Hermione!”   
As he sauntered out of her office, she made sure a stinging spell hit him in the ass before the door closed, and she witnessed his small shriek of pain and his subsequently less arrogant hurrying out of her range. She laughed softly in her now empty office, before going back to her paperwork, hoping that there were no more sudden visitors until after lunch.

=====RTD=====

Hermione soon realised she was in the midst of a bout of bad luck, because with only an hour until lunch, she found herself being disturbed once again, and it was not the Minister. Ginny bounded through her office door and flung herself into one of the chairs.  
“Hermione!” she exclaimed, causing the brunette witch to jump, startled, and spill a drop of ink onto the paperwork she was doing, whilst her elbow almost made contact with the towering stack of papers in her out tray. She huffed, quickly cleaning up the ink and putting her quill aside. Looking up at Ginny, she frowned,  
“What is it this time?” Hermione grumbled, annoyed that she would be unable to finish her paperwork until Ginny had dragged her out of the office to whatever lunch spot or shop had taken her fancy. Ginny laughed and got to her feet, walking around Hermione’s desk and pulling the brunette witch to her feet.  
“Hermione, your life is entirely too boring!” Ginny declared, “So instead of you moping around in your office for lunch, we’re going out to eat with Harry, Ron and Lavender.” Hermione cocked an eyebrow at her red-head companion,  
“Ginny, I made it perfectly clear that I have already been through plenty of action,” she said, not being one for social events, “And lunch with the lot of you is hardly something to classify as ‘interesting’.” Ginny smacked her on the arm,  
“Stop that,” the red-head scolded, “Anyway, you’re going to come to lunch with us, and you’re going to have fun. You can’t escape this one Hermione.” The brunette witch sighed, finally giving in to the energetic red-head, who was currently tugging her down the hallway towards the lift which took them up to the Auror Department on level two,  
“Fine,” she grumbled, “But get this over with quickly. I have paperwork that needs to be done today, and Kingsley won’t be pleased if I haven't finished.” Ginny jumped in excitement, grinning widely as she tugged her brunette friend out of the lift and towards Harry and Ron’s department.

Walking into the Auror Department was like walking into a room where a bomb had just gone off and then there was an earthquake immediately afterwards. Nothing was tidy or orderly. Folders were strewn about the large room, boxes filled with files were all over the floor, and on the desks, these files were spilling from the boxes and covering almost all flat surfaces, except for where there was an occasional collection of empty coffee mugs and a few dirty plates. The Aurors themselves were not in any better shape. Half of the desks were empty, and the remaining Aurors looked as if they had not slept in weeks and were throwing scrunched bits of parchment back and forth between their desks. A few greetings were thrown their way as Ginny and Hermione carefully picked their way through the desks and the mess, until they finally made it to the back, where Harry and Ron had their desks. Harry was still at his desk, and Ron was leaning against it, the two chattering away like schoolgirls and not doing any of their paperwork. When they spotted the two women, they waved lazily and Harry got up from his chair,  
“We’re good to go to lunch then?” Harry asked,  
“Of course,” Ginny replied, then turned to her brother, “I assume Lavender will be meeting us there?” He nodded,  
“Parvati’s taking over the shop while Lav’s out with us,” he said, and the four of them started picking their way through the mess and out of the department, into the lift, then up to the Atrium. They emerged out of the lift into the busy Atrium, which was swarming with people. The crowd jostled and shoved, everyone hurrying to get to the fireplaces. Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry joined one of the queues and the line slowly made its way forward until they were each taking a handful of powder and flooing to Diagon Alley.

As they sat around the table at the café, Hermione almost finished her ordered soup, the group came to a strange silence. She looked around the table and raised an eyebrow at Ginny, who smiled a little, placing her glass of apple juice down on the table. All heads had turned towards Harry and Ginny, and there was a little more silence before Ginny cleared her throat,  
“Well,” she began, then paused to cough softly, “Harry and I have something to tell you.” Those at the table remained silent, Hermione holding her breath just in case it was bad news, but Ginny and Harry wore beaming smiles, “I’d like to announce that I’m pregnant!” There was a collective intake of breath from the other three, and then they broke their silence,  
“Merlin!” Lavender exclaimed, “Congratulations!” Hermione pulled herself out of shock and cleared her throat,  
“Yes, congratulations Ginny!” she said, smiling and actually feeling happy and excited for her friends. She looked over at Ron and laughed at his stunned face, before Lavender smacked his arm to bring him back to the real world. He jolted back to reality, the rest of the table laughing at him, and he cleared his throat too.  
“Uh, yeah,” he said, smiling sheepishly and running a hand through his hair, “Congrats guys!” and from there, the conversation devolved into cooing about babies as they returned to finishing off their meals. A fleeting thought in the back of Hermione’s mind surfaced, and she wondered silently if she would ever have a baby, perhaps with pale blonde hair and stormy eyes, but she shoved that thought away quickly and returned to the conversation.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a while before she saw any more than a glimpse of the blonde woman, and Hermione had quickly become rather busy as the days since the ball turned into months, and she found herself immersing herself in her work, pushing all thoughts of the blonde to the back of her mind. It was much more important that she finish the task at hand — a report on international incidents involving Death Eaters evading capture. As she floated one file off her desk and retrieved another, she sighed, opening it to begin taking notes on the file of Goyle Sr. — Death Eater and fugitive — there was a rapping of knuckles against the heavy oak door of her office. Looking up from her work, she frowned, and called to her visitor to come in. The door swung open and in stepped the Minister. Hermione sat up straight and closed her folder, shooing her work away to elsewhere with a lazy flick of her wand. Folding her hands on the desk before her, she wordlessly pulled a chair up for him, inviting him to sit. The Minister sat, resting his hands in his lap, and cleared his throat.

“Is there an issue, Minister Shacklebolt?” Hermione asked. Shacklebolt leaned forward in his seat, pulling a folder out of his robes and dropping it onto the wood of the desk with a soft thump. The scrawled writing on the yellowed folder read ‘International Fugitives’, and Hermione drew it towards herself, stopping herself from sighing out loud.  
“Three weeks ago was the last time Lucius Malfoy was seen anywhere in Britain,” the Minister began, “Three days ago, he was sighted in Italy coming out of a dark arts store, and it is believed he is engaging in dark magic again.” Hermione sighed loudly,  
“What do you need me to do?”  
“For now, I need you to deal with the Italian Ministry to bring our resources together,” he said, his face serious. “It is important that we get this done before anyone else gets hurt.”  
“Well, of course!” Hermione said, busying herself with summoning more files. She pulled out a quill and some fresh parchment,  
“I will leave you to your work,” the Minister said, standing, “Please contact me if you are in need of any extra resources or personnel. I’m always happy to help.” Hermione thanked the man before he left her office and she settled down to begin penning her letter to the Minister of Magic in Italy.

=====RTD=====

The bell on the door chimed brightly from somewhere behind her as Narcissa searched the shelves for a copy of Scandinavian Potions and Remedies. She was not interested in the customer that entered the store, as the gust of air that had forced its way into the bookshop when the door opened had pushed the scent of wet wool and lemon drops towards her. She frowned slightly at the smell as the customer’s shuffling footsteps moved further into the shop, but returned to her search for a copy of the book that was translated into a language other than Russian. She was quite close to giving up her search when the door opened again, and this time, she turned to see who it was.

Hidden amongst the shelves upstairs, Narcissa watched as Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl, stepped into the shop. The younger woman greeted the shop owner with a friendly smile, leaning against the counter and idly chatting away as if she’d known the man for a long time. Narcissa felt herself smiling as she watched Hermione, and the young woman’s scent hit her nose.  
_Old books, tea — and was that cinnamon?_  
Her smile grew as she watched the woman browse the stacks nearby as the shop owner disappeared behind a door. Narcissa took in the way Hermione touched the books, stroking their spines, running a hand over the cover when she picked up one she liked. She had three books cradled in her arms by the time the shop owner returned with a parcel wrapped in brown paper. He smiled at the witch as she set her new findings down on the counter and pulled out her coin purse. There were some more words exchanged between the two in the hushed voices one might use in a library as Hermione paid for her books and parcel.

Narcissa moved out from her hiding place between the shelves and leaned on the wooden railing to get a better view of the woman beneath her. A beaded bag was opened as the two talked at the counter and the books were carefully stowed inside it. The hushed conversation seemed to end there as the customer who smelled of wet wool (an old woman), approached with a book clutched in her knobbly, twisted hands. The shop owner turned to the customer, and Hermione stepped away from the counter, making her way back to the door, the soft tap-taping of her shoes only just audible in the relative quiet of the shop. The young witch stopped, her hand on the door handle, and turned to look back at the shop. Icy blue eyes met brown for the first time since the Minister’s Ball and Narcissa gasped when the witch below her offered her a small smile, brown eyes warm and friendly. The woman below her gave her a small, friendly wave, and Narcissa could feel herself smiling back at her, before Hermione opened the shop door and turned away in a flurry of silky brown hair, hurrying out of the bookshop. Her face felt warm and she fanned herself, flustered, before turning back to look at the shelves again, picking up one of the copies of the text in the original Swedish. She could translate this herself, she supposed. After all, she had so much free time and so little else to do. She nodded to herself, feeling her face becoming less heated, and made her way downstairs to enquire about a translation aide. The man who owned the shop was very helpful and soon she was making her way towards the café where she had agreed to meet Astoria for lunch.

=====RTD=====

Narcissa hurried down the crowded street towards the small café opposite Gringotts. The street was crowded with witches and wizards all in a hurry to get to wherever they so desperately needed to be, and she had to dodge several stray elbows and legs on her way. With the way the crowd was bustling around her, she was rather happy that she had chosen heeled boots for this occasion, as she could see Astoria over the heads of most of them. The brunette witch was standing by the door of the café, almost pressing herself into the wall in order to avoid being trampled, and Narcissa almost had to elbow her way through the crowd to get any closer. Their eyes locked over the heads of the people, and Narcissa waded through the swarms of people, the crowd eventually parting and almost spitting her out in front of the café on the corner of Knockturn Alley. The blonde huffed as she straightened out her dress, and moved forward to greet Astoria with a kiss on each cheek, before hurrying to get inside and out of the way of the crowd.

As soon as they were seated and a simple privacy ward was put up, Narcissa smiled freely at the brunette witch who was soon to become her daughter-in-law. The other witch smiled in return as they both spoke their orders to the magical notepad hovering by their table; a glass of wine and soup for Narcissa, and another glass of wine and the chicken salad for Astoria. Once the notepad had returned to the kitchen, Astoria’s smile turned into a knowing smirk,  
“You’re very happy today,” the brunette noted, “Did you see a special witch in Flourish and Blotts?” When Narcissa flushed bright red, she laughed, and kept laughing even as the blonde witch swatted at her.  
“Be quiet, you horrible woman,” the blonde hissed, lightly smacking her companion’s arm. Astoria calmed herself, but grinned teasingly at the blonde, who was still a very vibrant shade of red, continuing to tease her about her crush on Hermione up until their food arrived.


	8. Chapter 8

The next two weeks brought a string of exchanges between Hermione and the Italian Ministry of Magic, and she found herself growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress being made. The Italian Ministry — as she had said to Minister Shacklebolt in a confidential meeting earlier — was unorganised, uninformed, lacked the resources to do anything to assist them, and was riddled with corruption. She had spoken to six different officials in their Department of International Magical Cooperation — three of whom were blatantly rude and unhelpful, two clueless interns, and one sleazy gentleman who had offered her ‘information for a certain price’. She sighed, pushing aside her paperwork to lay her head down on folded arms, whilst she tried to massage a cramp out of her hand.

As she lay there, the door of her office opened, and when she didn’t lift her head, someone cleared their throat. Hermione suppressed another sigh and sat up straight again, rubbing her eyes to try and ease some of her exhaustion, and tiredly motioned to the Minister of Magic to come in. When he moved to enter, the figure of a blonde woman behind him made her jolt upright, but it was only the Minister’s assistant, who waited outside her office. Hermione slumped in her chair again as the Minister seated himself in one of the chairs in front of her desk.  
“And what can I do for you today, Kingsley?” she asked, hoping her exhaustion wasn’t too noticeable. He looked at her with concern marking his face, and she knew he could tell,  
“How is your project with the Italian Ministry coming along?” he asked, eyeing the paperwork she had shoved aside.  
“Not well, obviously,” she replied, rubbing her temples. She was sure she’d have a roaring headache by the end of the day, “They are notoriously bad at being helpful and getting things done.” The Minister chuckled at this,  
“It might be easier to pull some strings and see what information we can get,” he said. Hermione frowned,  
“I don’t like it, but it might just be the one of the only options we have left,” she said, starting to tidy up her paperwork, “I just need to speak to Mr. Zabini and Mr. Malfoy, and if neither of those work out, it’ll be the only option we have left.”  
“I don’t like it either, Hermione, but Lucius Malfoy has been on the run for far too long now,” he said, frowning a little, “We have no other option but to do gather what information we can get and do whatever we can to stop him.” Hermione sighed heavily,  
“I suppose we do,” she huffed, straightening her posture when there was a knock at the door. She looked to the Minister and raised an eyebrow at him.  
“I have invited someone here to give us all the information they have,” he said, before raising his voice to ask the person to come in.

When the door opened, Hermione saw the blonde assistant again, but this time, the woman was holding the door open for a face she recognised. She felt her heart flutter a little in her chest and almost frowned to herself, but instead smoothed out her features as Narcissa Black walked gracefully into the room, the door shutting quietly behind her. Hermione rose from her chair as the blonde approached her desk. She distantly heard the Minister introducing the two, and Narcissa greeting her. She heard herself greet the other woman, and when she managed to shake of this sudden haze that had clouded her mind, she gestured to the unoccupied chair in front of her desk, and returned to her own seat. The Minister cleared his throat and both women broke their steady eye contact to look at him,  
“Right, well,” he began, sitting up even straighter than he was, “I have asked Ms. Black to be here today so that we can get to the bottom of the situation, and hopefully put Lucius behind bars.” Hermione nodded in understanding and summoned her self-writing quill as well as a fresh sheet of parchment.  
“Is everyone okay with having this conversation transcribed?” she asked, gesturing to the quill, “I would like all information to be recorded, but this parchment will not leave this room, nor be given to anyone who was not either in this room or directly involved in the case.” She looked between the two other people with her, and neither gave any signs of objection, and once they had both given vocal consent to being recorded, she nodded, and motioned to the quill to begin taking notes.  
“Now,” she began, folding her hands on her desk and sitting up very straight, “What can you tell us about holdings or assets the Malfoy family has connections to in Italy?” The blonde woman’s face creased into a tiny frown as she thought,  
“In terms of estate, there are three mansion houses and two town houses, although I have seen none of them since just after the war ended,” the woman said, and then went silent for a short moment, the only sounds in the room were the gentle scratching of the quill. “I don’t believe there were any official business dealings in Italy, but there may have been. Lucius did a lot of under the counter business which I was not supposed to know about, but none of these were written in the official records books.” Hermione nodded as she took this in.  
“Did he ever make donations to any political parties or government members?” she asked, continuing, “Did any suspicious amounts of money leave the accounts? Were there any extravagant presents bought to potentially gain favours with Ministry officials?”  
“There were entries in the books that were fairly regular payments of large amounts of money to an unnamed receiver,” she said, “Those could have been to Ministry officials, or they could have been payments to keep one of his mistresses happy.” The woman shrugged easily as if these occurrences were regular, every day things, and Hermione frowned at the notion that they were.

The meeting dragged on, the faint scratching of the quill a comforting constant to both the witches. The Minister, however, seemed to be unaware of the tension between the two women, and was comfortable in his chair, occasionally asking his own questions as the quill continued to record everything. The piece of parchment was slowly filling up as time wore on, and several times, both of the witches had hidden a yawn behind a dainty hand. As lunch time drew near, both Hermione and Narcissa became visibly jittery, and the brunette witch had to restrain herself from drumming her fingers on the desk as Narcissa continued speaking, now listing off some of Lucius’ more shady friends who had dealings or properties in Italy. Hermione was struggling to pay attention, her thoughts drifting between daydreams of the future and plans for lunch. She sighed internally and was relieved to see that the clock displayed the agreed time for the end of the meeting. She seemed to brighten considerably, and stood once Narcissa finished. She motioned for the quill to finish, and stepped out and around the desk as both of her companions rose from their seats. She thanked them both and said farewell as they left the comfort of her office. As she said her goodbyes to the blonde witch, their hands stayed touching for a few moments more than was proper. Their eyes locked for a moment, before the blonde witch stepped away with a small smile and left. Hermione’s hands came up to her face, and she could feel the burning heat of her cheeks. She quickly shut herself in her office and went about doing her paperwork before she left for lunch.


	9. Chapter 9

The manor was already full of noise in the early hours of the morning. The house elves rushed to and fro, preparing the day’s meals and trying to get some cleaning in before Narcissa awoke and tried to occupy her day by taking over their duties. The manor, however, was not getting any cleaner, as the postal owls had arrived and were perched around the sunroom, shrieking and dropping loose feathers everywhere. An old chest of drawers tucked away in a disused room upstairs began to rattle and shake violently, and a large nest of Doxies fell out of the curtains in the study which had formerly belonged to Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa, however, was unaware of any of these happenings, as she was fast asleep in her bed, dreaming of shining chestnut coloured curls and soft lips.

Down in the entrance hall, the ancient grandfather clock struck the hour and let out seven very loud chimes to mark this routine occurrence. The chimes echoed throughout the manor, from the kitchens, where the Head Elf had just walked in to check on the breakfast preparations, to the tips of the manor’s towers, where a conspiracy of ravens awoke and took flight, circling the towers and cawing in agitation. As they voiced their annoyance, the lady of the manor awoke and voiced her own with a very discontented groan. She had been disturbed from a very lovely dream, and awoke only to find the other side of her bed cold and empty. Whilst she did not miss the man who had once occupied the space beside her, she reasoned to herself that it was only human nature to miss and wish for the presence of another human’s warm body. She huffed at finding herself alone, and pushed messy blonde strands out of her eyes as she slowly sat up in bed. The light shining through the gap between the heavy green fabric of the curtains let her know that for once, she had slept through the night, and the lack of an empty teacup on her bedside table let her know that she hadn’t been woken by nightmares. She rubbed one hand across her face and let out a rather loud and undignified yawn, reaching over to grab her wand from the bedside table. The book lying open next to it chimed softly to remind her that today was dedicated to planing Draco and Astoria’s wedding.

She sighed and reluctantly extracted herself from the bed to begin pulling herself together and getting ready to present herself — _"to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet"_ , as that one muggle poet wrote. She couldn’t remember his name, but perhaps she would look for the poem in her collection some time later that night. Not now. Now, she was too busy pulling on tights to put a layer between her toes and the freezing cold floor, too busy rummaging through her closet to find a suitable dress and a warm outer robe. The dress was hurriedly pulled on, and she was somewhat glad that her company today would not be judging her for not lacing her corset tight enough. She had slipped her shoes on already, and somewhere between the flurry of fabric as she put on the dress and the embrace of the thicker outer robe, she had managed to dash to the bathroom to wash her face and style her hair.

Narcissa took a deep breath and then slowly let it out as she stood before the full length mirror in her bedroom. She smoothed her hands over the fabric of her dress — a nervous habit she often found herself doing — and sighed. This would have to do, she told herself. Her son and his fiancé were arriving to have breakfast with her in just a few moments. She took another deep breath, stood up tall and raised her chin, turning away from the mirror. A spray of perfume. A hand shooting out as she wordlessly summoned her wand from wherever she had dropped it. A final deep breath and then she left the comfort of her bedroom and made her way down the stairs.

=====RTD=====

The sunroom was lit with the early morning light and also full of owls and owl feathers, and as soon as Narcissa had opened the door, they all began to screech again, hopping and flapping on the backs of the nice chairs and lounge in the room. She sighed, striding over to shoo a large horned owl from the back of her favourite chair. She would return some semblance of order to the room once she had gotten rid of the owls, as the birds were currently destroying her furniture with their talons. With a flick of her wand, she opened the window, and with a polite call to Suzy, one of the three house elves who had decided to stay, there was a pop and then the smell of bacon. The owls hooted in excitement, and Narcissa then found it very easy to remove the letters from the legs of the birds, give them each some bacon, and put money in the leg pouch of the barn owl delivering her copy of the Prophet, and then shoo them all out the window. When the window was shut, she turned back and laid her eyes upon the destroyed room. With yet another sigh, she began to clean up, banishing feathers, repairing cushions, the backs of chairs, and scratched wood.

Suzy popped into the sunroom when everything was almost back to how it should be. The small elf watched as the lady of the house gave everything a final look, her eye seeking out any possible remainder of the destruction wrought upon her clean house by the owls. The elf cleared her throat, long ears twitching nervously and knobbly fingers clenched in the fabric of the clothes she wore.  
“Suzy thought Mistress would like to know that her guests are here,” the house elf said, almost backing away when Narcissa jumped in surprise and turned quickly, however, the woman’s smile was friendly and her reply was kind,  
“Oh Suzy! You startled me!” she said, hand to her chest, “Thank you for letting me know, and please tell them to come on in. I think we shall take breakfast in here today.” The house elf nodded. “Make sure the three of you remember to eat today,” Narcissa said as a reassurance to the elf that they were no longer under the reign of Lucius. The small elf thanked her, ears now perked up and face sporting a bright smile, and then left the room to return to the others.

When the door opened again, she looked up from reading The Daily Prophet and beamed when she saw her son and his fiancé step into the room. As she stood and strode across the room to greet them, fresh hot tea and clean plates and cutlery appeared on the coffee table near her chair. She smiled, greeting her visitors with hugs and a kiss on the cheek for both, before stepping back to guide them over to the seating gathered around the coffee table, making a motion with her hand to tell the tea pot to animate and pour them all a cup. Milk, honey, and sugar all appeared in pots and pitchers on a small tray and there was a comfortable silence as they each helped themselves.

“So…” Astoria began, after the breakfast foods they asked for had appeared on the plates before them, “Shall we get started?” Narcissa nodded, setting her teacup down in favour of buttering half a scone.  
“I suppose we must,” she said, summoning a piece of parchment and self-writing quill. “Now, let’s get the basics out of the way.”  
“I gather Pansy is organising most of it,” Draco said. His mother nodded,  
“We will only need to provide a list of basic things,” she said, before murmuring some words to the self-writing quill, “Things like theme, preferred colour scheme, venue, food preferences.”  
“Then this should all go smoothly,” Astoria remarked, taking a scone for herself, “Pansy is good at this sort of thing.” The other two nodded in agreement.  
“Now, sometime soon, I will need to take both of you to Madam Malkin’s to get things seen to,” Narcissa said, sipping her tea,  
“Just put it on the list,” Astoria said with an almost dismissive wave of her hand, “You can come and snatch us up at any time of day to go with you.” The quill scratched away at the parchment and Narcissa hummed as she thought,  
“And what about the colour scheme?” she asked, “Traditional green and silver, or something else?” She eyed the other two, noting the way Draco scratched his chin as he thought, and Astoria’s hand resting on his elbow.  
“Not traditional,” the younger witch said quietly, her eyes downcast, and her hand now tightly gripping Draco’s. Her son’s grimace made something in her heart tug, and something in his eyes made her chest clench in sorrow. She took a shaky breath, sitting up straighter and trying to bury her emotions,  
“Mint green?” the younger witch asked, her voice quavering. Narcissa nodded,  
“Dove grey and Bronze would go well with that,” she said, the scratching of the quill indicating that this had been noted. The older witch noted that her son hadn’t said a word. She sighed and gave them a small, weak smile.  
“Perhaps it would be best for us to continue this at another time,” Astoria suggested, squeezing her fiancé’s hand.  
“Perhaps it would,” Narcissa murmured as she stood to walk them to the door and bid them both farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.


	10. Chapter 10

As night was beginning to fall over the manor, Narcissa retreated to the library and retrieved a collection of muggle poetry. The warm light of the candle danced over the shelves and she smiled as she found the poem she had thought of earlier — _"to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet"_. The world outside the library darkened as night settled over the land, and Narcissa read on, immersing herself in muggle poetry, and soon she found she had finished the book. She set it aside with a soft sigh, and looked around her library, full of so many of her favourite treasures. The candlelight was growing dimmer by the minute, and she knew it would soon go out, so, with a sigh, she leaned back into her armchair, and closed her eyes for just a minute. She swore it was just a minute, but the next thing she knew, she woke to pale early morning sunlight streaming in the window and Suzy gently shaking her awake.

“Mistress needs to wake up!” the soft voice called, “There is visitors here!” Her eyes snapped open immediately and she sat upright quickly,  
“Visitors?” she asked, beginning to panic, “What time is it?”  
“It is nine in the morning,” the elf replied, and almost fled when the witch began to scramble to pull herself together.  
“Oh dear, Suzy,” she said, hurrying to straighten her clothes and smooth the wrinkles out of her outer robe, “I was supposed to be meeting Miss Granger at the Ministry at seven!”  
“Suzy has a fresh robe here for Mistress,” the elf said, offering the fresh garment to the witch, and was relieved when Narcissa stopped her frantic hurrying to gently take the fresh robe. She gave the house elf a smile and thanked her, quickly shedding her old robe and banishing it to her bedroom.

Now properly dressed and calm, she turned to the small elf,  
“Thank you Suzy,” she said, “Make sure you three all eat properly today.” She turned and started for the door, her skirts swirling around her, “I shall go greet our visitor. Do not worry about tea and coffee. I think I shall be fine to make them myself today.” The elf smiled and disappeared with a crack, no doubt to relay the instructions to the other two house elves. Narcissa smiled to herself as she strode through the halls and down the grand staircase to greet her visitor at the front door. She paused for a moment before the mirror in the hall, quickly tidying her hair and makeup, and found that her nervousness increased with every step she took towards the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and was instantly drawn in by the sight of the warm morning sunlight bouncing off chestnut curls, but she quickly wrenched her mind away, and instead looked upon the face before her.

“Miss Granger!” she exclaimed, hoping she was concealing how much she was enjoying seeing the other woman again. The brunette smiled at her,  
“Yes, hello Narcissa,” she said, her voice cheerful, “You did not show up for our appointment today, so I got worried.” The blonde witch’s face unwillingly broke into a smile, and she stepped back into the house, gesturing for Hermione to follow,  
“Do come in!” she said, walking further into the manor, Hermione following close behind her. The front door shut softly when the blonde gestured with her hand, and the brunette took a moment to survey her surroundings.  
“Well, it sure looks a lot different than it did last time!” Hermione said, still cheery. Narcissa swallowed uncomfortably, remembering the brunette’s last visit to the manor. She almost didn’t reply, but her ingrained manners took over,  
“Yes, well,” she said, wincing at sounding so weak, “It needed extensive renovations after the war to make it liveable again.” She grimaced as she remembered many of the actions that had taken place in the manor, and shoved back the urge to vomit until it was just a simmering, sorrowful guilt that filled her. “We shall use the upstairs library, I think…” she said — mostly to herself — even though the tapping of Hermione’s shoes informed her that the woman was still following her. They remained silent as they ascended the stairs to the upper floor and then passed quickly through the halls. Narcissa desperately hoped Hermione hadn’t seen anything that would remind her of the war days, but the younger witch said nothing until they had shut themselves in the library.

With the door shut and the comfortable environment of a warm library surrounding them, they silently sat across from each other before the fire. Narcissa squirmed uncomfortably at the guilt writhing inside her,  
“I do apologise for making you come back here,” she said, trying to skirt around the topic that was bound to bring back the haunting terrors of the war. “I will, however, do my best to make you comfortable here.” The brunette smiled at her for the first time since they were outside.  
“Thank you,” she said, before clearing her throat, “However, I have come to discuss business, so that may have to wait.” Narcissa nodded and pushed back the part of her that was telling her she had been rejected.  
“In that case—” she began, “what can I help you with, Miss Granger?”

=====RTD=====

Hermione felt a flicker of emotion within herself, and shoved them back. Sitting primly in her chair, she hoped her face wasn’t displaying every one of her thoughts and cleared her throat,  
“I was hoping you would be able to assist with further investigations into your ex-husband’s dealings,” she began, hoping she looked collected and calm, “It would be particularly helpful if you could tell me about his behaviour and character.” Hermione almost broke the watchful eye she had on the blonde witch when Narcissa’s eyes met hers, and she tried to not squirm in her seat.

“Of course,” Narcissa said, and Hermione almost sighed in relief when she noticed the woman’s face didn’t close or turn stony. “I would be happy to help, Miss Granger.”  
“Hermione, please,” the brunette said before she could stop herself. Narcissa’s eyebrows jumped,  
“Pardon?”  
“I-uh…” Hermione blushed, “You can call me Hermione.” The blonde woman’s face lit up in a brilliant smile.  
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Of course, Miss— Hermione.” The brunette witch grinned at her, and pulled a sheet of parchment, a thick folder of documents, and a quill out of the tiny bag she had tied to her belt,  
“We should get started,” she said, taking note of the way the blonde witch’s cheeks were slightly flushed. Narcissa nodded,  
“Shall I make us tea to have whilst we work?” she said, gesturing to a tea pot that rested on a small table nearby. At Hermione’s nod, the blonde stood and set about making their tea.

=====RTD=====

Many, many cups of tea and endless rolls of parchment later, Narcissa began to yawn. She and Hermione had been talking for hours and she found herself telling the younger witch every detail that came to mind — mostly incidents after the first war when he occasionally disappeared for days on end. He said he was ‘on a business trip’, and at the time, she had assumed that he was spending time with a mistress. Like any dutiful pureblood wife, she had looked the other way. Now that she thought about it, there were plenty of other times when he was most certainly off with a mistress — it wasn’t as though he was trying to conceal this behaviour from her, and she mused out-loud that he must have been up to something all those other times. Hermione’s eyebrows had jumped in shock, and Narcissa laughed,  
“Oh Hermione,” she said, smiling, “In certain circles, it is almost shouted from the rooftops when one’s husband is off with a mistress.” When the brunette witch frowned in confusion, she went on;  
“I knew plenty of witches whose husbands weren't faithful,” she said, with an almost dismissive gesture, “One’s marriage was determined by one’s parents. Political unions, rarely anything more than that. We did what we had to or lost our family, money, and home.”  
“Like…” Hermione was hesitant to say the name of the disowned sister, wary of the possibility of bringing up painful memories.  
“Yes, like Andy,” Narcissa said with a sigh, her eyes sad, “Although I am very glad she escaped.” Narcissa seemed to withdraw then, so Hermione turned the conversation back to her ex-husband’s business trips.

By the time they were almost done, the sun had started to slip beneath the horizon and the library was now lit by the flickering glow of candles. Hermione stopped her note-taking and sighed, flexing her sore hand as she packed up her things. She stood, and accepted the hand the older blonde witch offered her. Neither of them said anything as they exited the library, hand in hand, and made their way back to the grand staircase. The brunette stole looks at her blonde companion as they walked, her cheeks blushing bright red. She forced herself to concentrate on her feet to ensure that she would not fall down the stairs. Neither wanted to pull their hand away, nor did they want to break the silence with awkward small talk.

They were halfway down the stairs when a loud crack sounded and Hermione’s foot missed a step, almost sending her toppling into the small elf that had appeared before them. Narcissa’s surprisingly strong arm was the only thing that stopped her from falling, and they both tensed as if whatever moment they had just shared was going to shatter into millions of pieces, but this was pushed aside by a crashing noise outside and the distinct sounds of spells being cast,  
“What was that?” Hermione asked, clutching onto the blonde’s arm,  
“Mistress, we is being attacked!” the small elf cried, almost dashing away to hide,  
“Suzy!” Narcissa cried, “Suzy, are the others alright?”  
“Sally and Iris is fine, Mistress,” the elf said, her tiny, shaking hands clenched in her white apron. Narcissa nodded and let Hermione go, drawing her wand as she moved in front of them and checked the wards.  
“The wards will not hold forever,” the brunette said as the sounds of spells beating against the barrier continued to shake the house. Narcissa’s gaze was darting over the mansion and all the things she could not leave behind,  
“There are too many dark things stored here for us to leave,” she said, turning to look at Hermione. Her face was suddenly very serious, and the younger witch now understood why Narcissa was considered extremely powerful,  
“Send a patronus to the Ministry,” she said, causing Hermione to jump and hurry to do so, “We must not wait a moment longer.” As the silvery animal leaped out of her wand and sprinted away, Hermione realised that it was now a snow leopard, but she had no time to continue this thought. They had to hold the wards up until the Aurors could get there, and the manor had already begun to shake. Their frantic casting and the help of the house elves was only just enough to keep the manor standing as the attack raged on.

As the last glimmer of sunlight slipped away, the manor was now lit by the flashes of spells, and the witches were both beginning to tire. The manor shook as though it was being rocked by an earthquake, but over the crashes of the attackers, Hermione heard the sound of apparition and the yells of the Aurors. She smiled,  
“They’re here! They’re here!” she said, almost dropping her effort to keep the wards up, and then screeching when she had to leap out of the way of a falling piece of the roof. There were more cracks outside and suddenly there was a moment of silence as the manor stopped shaking.  
“Madame Black?” a familiar voice called out from outside, “Madame Black, are you okay?”  
“Harry!” Hermione cried, almost jumping down the rest of the stairs and bolting to the door to greet her friend with a tight hug. Harry was shocked to see her and raised his eyebrow in a silent question to the blonde descending the stairs at a more dignified pace.  
“Ah, hello Harry,” she said, stopping behind Hermione and resting a hand on the younger witch’s shoulder when she stepped back from her friend. The blonde looked at the various Aurors around the garden, “Come inside, all of you. I do not like being so exposed like this.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Merlin’s knee!” the blonde cursed, shooing the weary Aurors into the sitting room, “Sit down, please.” She sighed and took a seat beside Hermione, who sat quivering on the floral-patterned lounge. The younger witch’s leg bounced as she took deep, shaky breaths, and Narcissa managed to stop herself from reaching out and taking the brunette’s hand again. It would hardly be appropriate in their current circumstance and whilst surrounded by such company. As she had these thoughts, the fireplace flared to life in a burst of green flame and a plume of smoke, and the Minister’s purple robes flapped as he landed with a sort of grace that many wizarding folk would envy. He stepped out into the room before the smoke cleared and it swirled around him, the glittering dust clinging to his robes and skin.

“Good evening,” he said, giving a small bow of the head to acknowledge Madam Black. Narcissa straightened herself, a small smile almost breaking her cool mask,  
“Minister Shacklebolt,” she said, tilting her head subtly to direct him to sit on one of the nearby chairs, “Please, take a seat. Do make yourself comfortable.” He smiled at the blonde, and any observer who had not learned the ways of Madam Black would have said this was a polite smile in response to a passive-aggressive remark. Shacklebolt however, knew the truth, and he cleared his throat as he sat, a friendly smile appearing on his face.  
“I have had a word with my security experts at the Ministry, and we have to make an unfortunate request of you, Hermione,” he said, smiling at her so she would feel more relaxed. She didn’t.  
“What is it Kingsley?” she asked, her exhaustion leaking into her voice,  
“As you’re all now well aware, the manor is no longer safe for Madam Black to continue to inhabit due to tonight’s interaction with your ex-husband and a party of escaped Death Eaters.” Narcissa’s face broke as her alarm came to the forefront, “I would like to request that she stay with Miss Granger until the situation is resolved.” Hermione’s mouth hung open and Narcissa opened hers to protest,  
“I cannot, Minister,” she said, trying her best to not clench her hands in her robes, “There are too many dark things stored in this house for me to simply leave. As we saw tonight, the wards will not be strong enough to keep out any party who wishes to enter.” The Minister nodded, and Narcissa thought that perhaps he’d understood her wish to remain,  
“It is also far too dangerous to stay, Madam Black,” he said, shaking his head and giving her an apologetic look, “I cannot comfortably allow you to stay here, nor can I get any peace of mind.” When she looked like she was about to protest this, he held up a hand to stop her, “I am sorry Madam Black, but I cannot leave you here and possibly be responsible for your death. It does not sit well with me. Please, please do not endanger your own life. We will help in collecting and storing your possessions, should you request it.” Narcissa gave a defeated sigh, and Hermione looked at her with a comforting smile, and she finally gave in.

=====RTD=====

They appeared on the windswept cliffside with a crack, disturbing only the rabbits who looked warily from their burrow at the two women tramping across the wild grass dotted with all sorts of wildflowers. The wind bit harshly at the skin of their exposed faces and blew hair into their eyes and mouths. Narcissa shivered and almost grabbed onto Hermione’s arm when she lost her footing on the lumpy grass, but she steadied herself as they came to the worn path that wove between the tussocks. She watched as Hermione waved a hand, and she jumped a little as tall black gates appeared before her. The tall, white peaks of the manor peeked above the top of the gates, grey roofs swathed in silver clouds, shining in the early morning light. As the gates swung open, Narcissa only just managed to stop herself from openly gaping at the manor that stood proudly on the clifftop. She did, however, raise an eyebrow at the brunette witch when she turned to speak to her. Hermione laughed.  
“You didn’t think I was going to just sit on all that money from the war like some dragon, did you?”  
“I— Well, I suppose not,” the blonde witch said, blinking rapidly in shock. Hermione began to lead her towards the manor, the black gates swinging shut silently behind them, and with another wave of her hand, the wards were back in place.

They didn’t speak again as they walked along the neat path from the gates to the black front door ahead of them. It opened silently, but the two women weren’t bothered. Hermione gestured for Narcissa to enter the house before her. Soft light filtered through the stained glass above the door, lighting up the dim hallway. Narcissa stood still in the coloured light shining into the hallway, glancing through a nearby doorway into what she could assume was Hermione’s sunroom. The house was… nice. The décor was nothing like that of the Malfoy manor. Where the Malfoy manor was draped in lush green and silver fabrics, and hung with tapestries and paintings of ancestors long gone, Hermione’s manor was full of rich colours accented with subtle gold. She had decorated the walls with a very small number of magical paintings, but there was an abundance of muggle and magical photographs and a few paintings by muggle artists that Narcissa would never admit she recognised and admired.

Hermione walked ahead of her, not seeming self-conscious in the least at opening her home to someone so used to lavish displays of wealth, and Narcissa followed just a few paces behind her, trying to subtly peer into all the rooms they passed. Hermione led her up the stairs in silence, and Narcissa’s eyes caught sight of the library as they passed by towards the bedrooms at the end of the hall. Perhaps Hermione would allow her to spend some of her time in there, but she did not want to intrude if the brunette witch used that as her workspace. Hermione came to a stop at the end of the hallway, and Narcissa snapped herself back into reality,  
“My room is at the end of the hall, should you need to find me,” Hermione gestured to the large oak door at the end of the hall, and then to the surrounding rooms, “You may have your pick of any of the rooms. They are all clean and ready for guests. You should find they have most of what you will be familiar with.” With a final nod, Hermione disappeared into her room, the oak door closing firmly behind her. Narcissa was left in the hallway, staring after her, before deciding to pick a room at random and make it hers.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she surveyed the room she had chosen. The four-posted canopy bed was clearly the centrepiece with its headboard against the smooth stone wall, draped in rich purple silk with gold accents. A nearby door led to what she assumed was the bathroom, and the windows looked out over the wild grey sea. She turned and took in the room again — the rich dark wood of the wardrobe, bedposts, and small writing desk, the intricately patterned rug that separated her feet and the cold stone floor, and the painting of an English beach on the wall. It was… nice, but she was reluctant to admit that she liked it — she wasn’t here to enjoy being surrounded by nice things again. She sighed, setting her bags down on the floor by the bed and sat down. She could unpack later. A yawn overtook her, and she felt exhaustion settle heavily on her shoulders. She had, after all, spent the past few hours defending her home and then helping to pack up her life. There was no time for sleep then, but now, she could barely keep her eyes open. Her shoes were quickly kicked off, her hair unpinned, and her outer robes discarded, and she almost flung herself onto the bed. She fell asleep instantly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry bout the sad bit also its my birthday, and happy new year to all yous.

Narcissa yawned and rolled over onto her side. She was warm and comfortable and in a bed that was not hers. She bolted upright, looking around the room with panicked eyes. Her bags were there on the floor, and the bright sun was streaming in through the windows that overlooked the ocean. _Hermione’s house. Right._ She sighed as her heart slowly stopped thumping so wildly and let herself fall back into the soft pillows, staring up at the draped purple fabric that hung above the bed. Rolling over, she grabbed her wand from the nightstand and checked the time. 8:40am. The rest of her belongings were due to arrive at nine, so she forced herself to sit up again and finally swing her legs around to ease herself off the bed. She could only just feel the chill of the stone floor through the lush rug she stood on. Her feet were bare, and chilled as soon as she stepped off the rug to make a dash for the bathroom.

The stone of the bathroom floor was cold too, and she curled her toes as she looked around the smaller room. In one corner, there was a glass box — the shower, she assumed — and nearby, she was relieved to see a large claw-footed bathtub. She stepped closer to it, relieved to see it looked fairly simple to operate. Two taps, red and blue, hot and cold, and the faucet. There was a plug for the drain and a ledge for the soap. It was normal. She smiled a little as she turned on the taps, waiting for the water to warm a little before she plugged the drain. Perhaps a long bath would be nice. She could sit and soak for a while, but she shouldn’t. This wasn't her home, and she couldn't have such luxuries here. Besides, her belongings were arriving soon, and she did not want Hermione handling them. She sighed and stripped her wrinkled clothes off, before cutting off the water and stepping into the bath. The steam curled around her like a cat’s tail as she lowered herself to sit in the water, and she dutifully began scrubbing away the grime on her body. She couldn’t allow her mind to wander off now, but it did anyway, drawing her back to the night before.

Hermione’s patronus galloped across her memory, the snow leopard bounding gracefully from the brunette witch’s wand, just like her own did. _Hermione’s patronus is supposed to be an otter_ , she told herself, _But this doesn't mean anything. It can’t_. She huffed and shook her head, sending droplets of water flying, but her mind seemed intent on staying focussed on the brunette witch’s snow leopard, and then, on the way their hands had been so perfectly fitted together just before her world seemed to start crashing down around her again. Narcissa growled, angry and embarrassed that she no longer had as much control over her own thoughts as she used to, and lay back in the water to rinse the suds of her hair-care potion out. _The bath is deep enough_ , she mused, as water filled her ears, _I could just sink under and — No_. Those thoughts had no right to disrupt her fragile state of existence that she had painstakingly restored over the last five years. She shouldn’t — couldn’t think those things. She had a life, a house, she was alive, her son was alive. Narcissa couldn't let herself fall again.

The blonde witch gave a sigh that revealed how tired she really was, before she realised she had been in the bathtub long enough for the water to cool, and she shivered when a cold breeze slipped through the space where the bathroom’s small window was cracked open. Narcissa sat up, her wet hair dripping and sticking flat to her skin. It was cold, and suddenly, her brain was flooding her with Hermione’s warm eyes, how warm the brunette’s hand felt in hers, and the smell of firewood, old books, and cinnamon. Another gust of cold air snapped her out of her daydreaming, and she shook herself free of all those thoughts involving warm hands and lips and the smell of cinnamon. She wasn't here to make friends or fall in love or any of that nonsense. She told herself this many, many times as she hurriedly finished her bath, snatching up a soft towel to wrap herself in before fleeing the bathroom. She had to escape those thoughts and, more importantly, she had to get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast. Some part of her also knew that she didn’t want to escape. She needed to get these feelings under control before she saw the brunette witch again.

Smoothing her hands over the fabric of the dress she had chosen, she readjusted the bodice nervously. She knew she was being silly about this, and told herself she was fine, that she’d get through this, but those reassurances didn't calm her one bit. She took one final deep breath as she stood in front of the mirror and squared her shoulders, forcing her well-perfected mask of indifference to slip into place as she left the comfort of her borrowed room. _Into the fray I go_ , she thought, and headed to where Hermione had told her the kitchen was. _I can do this_ , she reassured herself, _I am Narcissa Black, and I will not be shaken by some childish crush on a beautiful woman_.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have convinced herself of such things, because when she stepped into the kitchen, she almost lost her grasp on all the training her mother had forced onto her. The room was lit brightly by the morning sun, which made a golden halo of Hermione’s curly hair, which Narcissa admired as Hermione stood at the stove, flipping pancakes in a frying pan. The younger witch wore an oversized shirt, and when she shifted, the proud, sensible part of Narcissa was thankful for the shorts that covered Hermione, but some rebellious little piece of her revelled in the smooth thighs that were exposed to her eye. Those thighs which her hands were now itching to touch, to — she suddenly snapped her gaze away as a loud pop from the pan brought her back to her senses, blushing heavily and telling herself that she was bad and shouldn't stare. Narcissa cleared her throat awkwardly.  
“Good morning, Narcissa,” Hermione said warmly, and the blonde witch struggled to keep her body upright as she almost sank into those words.  
“Yes. Good morning,” she replied, and then hissed at herself for how awkward and un-ladylike she sounded, “What are you making?” _Pancakes, obviously_ , she hissed at herself, and before the rational, smart part of her could stop her from being rude, she continued, “Are these those muggle pancake things?” _Foolish_ , she sneered at herself, _Foolish and rude_. She opened her mouth again to apologise,  
“I-I’m—“ Hermione cut her off with a slap of her hands against the counter top, and suddenly Narcissa was quivering like a child again.  
“‘Muggle’?” the brunette woman hissed, flinging her ladle down on the bench, unconcerned about the way the pancake batter splattered everywhere. Narcissa winced. She whirled around to face the blonde, “Don’t you dare insult—“ Hermione stopped abruptly, as if she had suddenly become aware that her guest was shaking like she was about to get a beating. However, before she could open her mouth to say anything more, Narcissa found herself on her feet and out the kitchen door, and running — running and holing herself up in her room, bolting the door shut. Protective wards were spilling from her wand and she found herself sinking to the floor, still shaking like a leaf and waiting for the sting of a hand or a belt or a curse on her skin.


	13. Chapter 13

The brunette witch stood still in the kitchen as if the world had stopped suddenly and had left her there with her brows furrowed in mild confusion. For once, Hermione’s brilliant mind had tripped over itself and was taking its time in catching up with what had just happened, leaving her body stuck there, absent-mindedly wiping a glob of pancake batter off her cheek. _Pancake batter?_ She blinked rapidly as her brain started catching up. _Kitchen… making pancakes… Narcissa?_ She glanced around the kitchen, which was empty, and sighed. The chair from the small kitchen table was shoved against the wall, and there was pancake batter splattered over the bench, and the stove — the stove was still on, and Hermione cursed as she hurried to turn it off and shove the pan elsewhere. _Deal with that later, Narcissa first_.

Hermione sighed again, not making any move to leave the kitchen and chase after the blonde witch. _Give her some time to cool off, to come back to herself_ , she told herself, leaning against a counter, uncaring whether her shirt got pancake batter on it — she was already covered in batter anyway. She let her head fall back against the cabinets above the counter with a dull thunk, and stared up at the ceiling, wondering why her blonde companion had looked so haunted, but then again, from the little Andromeda had told her about the Black family, Narcissa certainly had reason. Those sort of scars were not quick to fade. A glob of batter slid down the lacquered wood of the kitchen cabinet and into her hair, but Hermione ignored it, her mind too busy replaying the scene over and over again. The way the blonde had jumped when Hermione’s hands had slapped against the black and white swirls of the granite counter top, the way the witch’s immaculate posture collapsed into a shaking mess of a scared child, the way her blue eyes had hollowed, the way the usually controlled witch had visibly winced when Hermione had flung the ladle down on the bench top. She had seen some of those things before, those hollow eyes, the shaking. She’d seen it on Harry whenever the end of the year came in their early years at Hogwarts.

Hermione cursed as she thumped her head back against the cabinet again. Something inside clattered, falling over, but she was engrossed in her thoughts. _Shit, I’ve really ruined it this time_ , she told herself, huffing and groaning up at the ceiling… and some pancake batter fell and splattered on her forehead. She had to go talk to Narcissa, she needed to make sure the witch knew she was safe here, that Hermione wasn’t really mad at her. The brunette pushed herself off the counter she had been leaning on, and stood upright again, padding towards the kitchen door. The feeling of something cold and wet on her forehead went almost unnoticed, except for a hasty wipe of her hand across her forehead, which just spread the batter around.

She ascended the stairs with her body on autopilot, her head swirling with thoughts about Narcissa — about how Hermione had just hurt a guest in her own home. She sighed, her mouth setting into an unhappy line, and wondered how she could make it up to Narcissa, who had every right to tell Hermione to leave her alone. She continued on her path down the hall towards her room, and towards Narcissa’s, but her mind was still mostly elsewhere, scolding herself for her behaviour, for being so unobservant of her guest’s history and the things her cool, uncaring mask hadn’t quite hidden. She wasn’t sinking into self-hatred, but for once, Hermione wished she wished she had held her tongue. As she got closer to Narcissa’s room, her brows furrowed at the sparks that hung in the air and prickled like tiny lightning when she inhaled. It was a strange scent, and her memories told her it was the scent of raw magic — emotional magic. Her attention was snatched away from the magic when she paused outside Narcissa’s room and heard the faintest sobs through the carved oak door, and reached out to knock on the door. She stopped just before her knuckles hit the wood when she felt the tickle of magic against her own. _Wards_.

Part of her nagged at her to just leave the blonde witch alone, to just go about her own business. _She put up wards_ , it told her, _She doesn’t want your comfort, doesn't want to see you_ , but she couldn’t just leave the other witch alone. There was still time — still time to reverse the damage she had caused, so she drew in a deep breath, which was only vaguely comforting, and knocked, the wards stinging against her skin, and she barely stopped her bravery from fleeing her body and making her run away. The soft sobs stopped, and Hermione hoped she hadn’t spooked the witch.  
“Narcissa?” she called softly. There was no response from the blonde, and Hermione steadied her emotions and fears and then spoke again. “Narcissa… I’m so sorry. I ruined it all.” She paused, and then pressed on, still speak softly, “Please ‘Cissa… please let me in. I only want to talk.” There was no answer, but the sobbing didn’t start up again, and after a long moment of silence, the stinging of the wards on her hand stopped, and Hermione almost sighed in relief as she slowly opened the door and peered into the room.

=====RTD=====

The door opened slowly, and Narcissa watched as Hermione slipped into the room and then slowly shut the door, making sure it didn’t slam or thump against the frame. The blonde tensed briefly when Hermione slowly drew her wand from the waist-band of her pyjama shorts, and she pulled her legs in a little closer to her chest with little care for the robes that were getting crushed and wrinkled, but she relaxed as the brunette put her wand down on the floor, and slowly straightened again. The brunette moved slowly across the room towards the bed where Narcissa had moved to after she was sure her legs could hold her up again. The witch’s feet — bare, Narcissa noted — were silent on the stones, and a bitter part of her sneered at the fact that Hermione was treating her as if she were fragile glass, but the truth was, right now she could shatter into thousands of glittering shards.

_It would be so easy_ , she thought, _So easy to break — to let myself break_. She kept that to herself though, and relaxed slightly when the brunette was close enough that Narcissa could see the worry and shame etched into her companion’s face. _Perhaps this won’t be bad_. The brunette witch sat on the bed, an arm-length away from her, hesitantly shuffling closer until they were almost touching, and slowly extended her arms. Narcissa took note of the drying pancake batter on the witch’s shirt and skin, but let herself be pulled into a comforting embrace, burying her face into the brunette’s neck. She let the comforting scent of vanilla and oranges wash over her senses, and let a few tears trickle down her cheeks and soak into the soft fabric of the shirt. She found her arms wrapping themselves tightly around Hermione’s waist, and found that in that moment, she didn’t care for anything except the woman whose arms were wrapped around her. Sighing into the woman’s soft body, she felt some of the pain lift and felt the heavy clouds part for a moment to let in this new ray of sunshine.

After a few moments of soft comfort and soothing hands running over her back, Narcissa pulled back a little so that her blue eyes, reddened from crying, could meet Hermione’s soft, comforting brown eyes, their gazes locking as they silently studied each other. Neither of them spoke, unwilling to break whatever strange mood was growing between them, and then it happened — Hermione’s eyes darted down to her lips for a second, and whatever had been growing between them reached out its tendrils and drew them both in. Narcissa’s eyes slipped closed, her lips met Hermione’s, and her brain shut down.

It was all softness and warmth and skilled lips fitting so perfectly with hers. She found her hands creeping up to sink into soft and curly hair to hold Hermione there, and felt Hermione’s hands cup her face ever-so-gently. A smile bloomed across her face, and a soft sigh slipped from her lips as they parted for air, but when her eyes opened and met Hermione’s as their foreheads rested together, there was a spark, and suddenly she was pulling away, releasing curly hair and scooting back, away from the brunette witch. Their eyes were still locked, and Narcissa was barely containing her anxiety at the realisation of what she had just done, even though her rational self was screaming that Hermione had kissed her back, had cupped her cheeks, had rested with her as they caught their breath instead of fleeing.  
“I-I’m…” The blonde unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips to wet them, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have kissed you like that…” She got up off the bed, clutching her wand in one hand and her robes in the other, backing away towards the bathroom door.  
“Hey…” Hermione said softly, “No need to apologise. I liked it.” The brunette was smiling softly at her, with too much understanding, with too much comfort that she didn’t deserve, and then she was shutting herself up again, warding the bathroom heavily and climbing into the empty tub. 

She curled up in the white tub, resting her head on the cool porcelain and squeezing her eyes shut, exhausted and having forgotten that her belongings were arriving at nine. Instead, she let herself drift in and out, not paying attention to the sounds around her, only paying attention to the feeling of the cool porcelain on her exposed skin, and the sharp coldness of the wind blowing through the bathroom’s open window. She didn’t hear the ravens cawing, nor did she hear the sound of apparition marking the arrival of her belongings, or the chime of the doorbell ward. She didn’t hear a heavy, shaking sigh from the bedroom, and she didn’t hear the door open and shut again as Hermione left. Narcissa heard nothing but the beating of her own heart and her own breathing, and she let herself fall asleep to those sounds.


End file.
